


no civilizing hides our animal impulses

by girlsarewolves



Series: exchanges [29]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Bad Guys Made Them Do It, Body Horror, Collars, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, Face-Sitting, Femslash, Finger Sucking, Fuck Or Die, Humiliation, Master/Pet, Monster Girl, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Public Sex, Strap-Ons, Transformation, Underground Fighting Ring, Vaginal Fingering, Vampires, Werewolves, a little light on the master/pet aspect but it is definitely there, shifting during sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:47:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23487064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlsarewolves/pseuds/girlsarewolves
Summary: In a city of vices for the supernatural, Kara Danvers is on a mission to recruit an old enemy to be an ally. She might have bitten off more than she can chew.
Relationships: Kara Danvers/Earth-2 Laurel Lance
Series: exchanges [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1269893
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	no civilizing hides our animal impulses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wipvanwrinkle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wipvanwrinkle/gifts).



> This was inspired by the two Roulette episodes of Justice League Unlimited and the first episode with her on Supergirl. I hope you like it!

* * *

Midway City is the kind of place that comes alive in the dead of night. Neon signs and swaying spotlights on twinkling skyscrapers that leave a constant, lingering haze of off-white light hovering over it. 

The stars don’t come out over Midway; only full moons ever break through. And even then they’re never a spectacle. The low-hanging satellite glowing orange between buildings doesn’t stand out tonight. That familiar pull on Kara feels muted. That’s the lure and charm and glittering vanity of Midway for monsters.

Vegas is where the humans go to drown in their sins and baser desires. Midway is where the monsters go.

Blood and swear and sex permeate the air. There’s drugs, liquor, cigarette smoke wafting in-between bodily fluids. Not as strong as they are in human dominated cities. It’s a welcome reprieve to Kara, even while she hates the itch at the back of her skull that only grows the longer the heavier scents linger in her nostrils, getting stronger.

It’s a blessing the moon’s call feels muted, because everything else is tugging on her harder than she’s used to when not in the heat of a mission’s end.

“You shouldn’t go alone,” Alex had told her, concern in her eyes and wrinkling her forehead. Not that Kara would lose control. She knew better than almost anyone else how strong Kara’s hold over herself was. She’d helped instill that control, helped it grow and refine itself over the years. But she also knew that focusing too hard on control when every fiber of your being was torn in all the delicious directions of instinct and want, you were vulnerable.

“It’s too great a risk. You being human already puts a target on your back - the moment they realize you’re an agent, things will be over, and the entire point of me going to Midway will be moot.” Kara had flashed a confident and breezy smile, one she’d mostly believed in. “I can do this.”

Part of Kara wishes she’d taken Alex up on the offer. Her sister’s scent was clarity, focus, something familiar and reassuring that kept her grounded in herself. But all the reasons she and J’onn had given for why that was a bad idea still ring true. She’d be spending most of that focus on keeping Alex safe instead of on the mission.

And she needed all her focus on this mission.

\--

The club is bursting at the seams - the crowds of people, the money and drinks flowing, the conflict of angry and victorious shouting. Above all the energy. Raw and blood-stained and electric, a current to it that most humans wouldn’t even pick up on, could only be overwhelmed by it without knowing why. It’s magic, it’s violence, it’s inhuman abilities used to exertion and their aura still lingering in the air. 

Kara feels the swell of hunger in her belly, feels the way her nails stretch and sharpen over the tips of her fingers. She has to blink several times before her vision returns to normal instead of the sharper sight of the wolf. Not that it matters if anyone there notices her eyes are glowing amber, but all the same she doesn’t want to take a chance of getting noticed, someone’s gaze focusing on her for too long until something about her sets off their sixth sense of danger.

In the center of the building is a large, circular auditorium. And at its core is a caged ring, reinforced with everything that hurts and withstands those like her - the inhuman, the supernatural, monsters - where one woman stands triumphant over an unconscious - Kara hopes - opponent.

The shock of white-gold hair against an all black ensemble is instantly familiar, and there is a brief sliver of relief that at least Kara’s leads were right that she was here.

A voice echoes out from the intercom system low and seductive and smug - Kara swears she can _hear_ a Cheshire cat grin in that voice.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our winner for the fourth match in a row - the Black Siren!”

Dinah Laurel Lance.

A meta-vampire with lightning fast reflexes and a Banshee-like scream, she’s a dangerous woman, even among her kind. Deadly, devious, a dirty fighter. Beautiful. Vicious. And a better person than she wants anyone to know. Especially herself.

“Our champion has earned herself a brief intermission, folks,” the sultry voice continues, speakers everywhere so that she surrounds the building and all those within it. “Enjoy a round of drinks on the house and we will be back in thirty.”

Perfect _._ Plenty of time to sneak to the locker rooms and find Laurel. Kara can only hope that it also gives her enough time to then talk to Laurel and get through to her that her skills are worth more than this place. Kara’s seen first hand the good Black Siren can do - the trouble has always been Black Siren seeing it.

\--

It’s easy enough, finding the locker rooms. A little trickier sneaking past the hellhound guards, but working with humans has made Kara more resourceful than most others like her would think to be in these kinds of situations.

So. Air vent it is.

Despite how easily the ruckus of the crowd buzzed on liquor, money, and inhuman energy aggravates her and that itch at the back of her skull, Kara keeps her focus on moving silently through the vent. Getting in had been easy enough - moving through it, on the other hand, without tipping people off that there was a person crawling around up there, is always the real trick. Mostly it just took patience and control. Knowing your body’s weight and how to move it without being forceful.

By the time she reaches the locker room where Laurel is taking a breather, ten minutes have passed. Fine, so - she’s got twenty to drop down, convince Laurel not to tip anyone off that she’s there, talk Laurel into leaving with her, and then get the both of them out of there without being noticed. 

Or at least getting Laurel to agree to leave with her. If they have to kick a few asses to make their way out, Kara can live with that. Maybe even enjoy it. Okay, fine. She’d be lying if she tries saying she wouldn’t enjoy it.

Time keeps on ticking, but for a moment - Kara hesitates. 

Dinah Laurel Lance had been a meta once upon a time - something between human and monster. Scientists were divided over whether metas came from magic or mutation, but what wasn’t up for debate was that metas had powers. Usually one particular talent, like running faster than the speed of light, being able to fly - or having a sonic scream that could burst a human’s eardrums. And if metas are turned, well - normally, those powers get lost, replaced by all the new and frightening perks of being a werewolf or vampire or whatever else they’d been transformed into. Laurel, though...sometimes, some metas get to keep their powers. More often it’s the ones that become vampires. 

Like Laurel.

Kara and Laurel had crossed paths years ago. Not long after she’d been bitten and turned. Before that, the teams and agents sent after Black Siren had been those delegated solely to going after metas that abuse their powers and cause trouble, hurt others. Kara only got sent after monsters that caused those kinds of problems. 

Laurel had a tendency to cause those problems a lot. 

Father had been a cop - died when she was young, and Laurel had never fully recovered from that. Losing her fiance years later didn’t help. When her meta power emerged, so did a way to lash out at the world for taking away what she loved. Becoming a vampire only made that hunger grow.

Kara can understand her motivations though. She knows the pain of losing your family, the life you had been living - the world you knew shattering all around you and no idea where to start picking up the pieces and putting them back together. She had been lucky enough that her cousin had found her, that the Danvers had taken her in, given her a purpose. 

Helped her know that not everyone out there is awful, untrustworthy, deserves the pain that life can inflict without a moment’s notice.

That’s why she’d made the decision to give Laurel another chance all those years ago. That’s why when she’d heard that Black Siren was back, but just fighting in cage matches against other monsters and metas, she’d begged to find her and offer her a chance at something more.

Maybe that’s why something stirs inside her every time she sees that pale face and black-painted mouth, the white-gold hair and sparkling blue eyes. The cruel, sharp smile that covers up all the hurt she’s still trying to mend. Maybe that’s why she’s wasting precious time, spying on Laurel through the vent, telling herself if Laurel says no it’s not rejection.

“I happen to prefer my private locker room _not_ smell like wet dog, so if you could please exit the air vent?” Laurel dryly remarks without sparing a glance towards the ventilation shaft. 

Damn.

Kara takes a breath and then punches the vent cover off its hinges and slithers out, drops down to her feet not far from where Laurel is sitting as she rewraps her hands. “Sorry. I knew Roulette wouldn’t like me crashing her monster brawl party, let alone permit me back here to see you. But I needed to see you.”

Laurel finishes wrapping her hands before she finally looks over at Kara. There is no grand dawning of realization or recognition in her eyes, but no hostility either. That has to be something, right? Instead there is just mild interest and a sharp, studying gaze raking over her. “These fights might not be looked upon fondly by the outside world, but I would hardly call them a valid reason for the Wolf of the DEO to hunt me down again. I’ve been keeping out of the human-killing kind of trouble.”

Well. Now Kara knows Laurel at least remembers her.

“I’m not here because the DEO thinks you’re a problem again. I’m here because I think you deserve better.”

That seems to finally crack the air of cool detachment. Laurel snorts - a harsh, derisive sound - and stands to fully face Kara. “Better? And what exactly is better than making enough money to retire in five years for a nice, extended period of my _incredibly_ long life while also blowing off all the bottled up steam I can’t unleash on the poor, helpless humans you care so much about? It can’t be a position like yours - I’m too unpredictable, my hands are too bloody. I’m not the kind of person you give a super elite badge to - as if I’d be interested in that life _at all_.”

Kara can’t hide the wince Laurel’s words and biting tone inflicts. She’d known it would be a hard sell but had seriously underestimated just how hard. “Laurel, please -”

“Siren,” she interrupts, voice sharper than ever, a much angrier edge to it. “My father called me Laurel. Maybe hearing it back then was what I needed. But not anymore. I’m the Black Siren. The queen of the ring. And nobody - not even you - gets to forget that. I appreciate that you didn’t lock me up and throw away the key, Agent Danvers, I really do. But that doesn’t make us friends, and if you’re not here to arrest me - then fuck off.”

“What about Roulette?”

Laurel pauses then, brow furrowing slightly. She doesn’t follow. “What about her?”

“Does she call you Siren? Does she recognize you as the queen of the ring? Because from what I’ve seen, Roulette calls the shots around here, and she’s the only queen allowed.”

“And what about you, _Kara_? Are you the ‘alpha’ of the DEO? Do you get to call your own shots? Tell me - how hard did you have to argue for permission to come here?” Laurel moves then, slowly walking towards Kara. One foot in front of the other, each step a slow, dramatic show of dominance. “I mean, I have to say, I am quite shocked to see you out on a full moon without a leash.”

“Fine. I get it.” Kara closes her eyes, breathes in nice and slow and deep. That itch at the back of her neck is getting worse. A mental image of her hands reaching back and _tearing_ the skin off - letting out what so desperately wants to be free - comes unbidden to her mind. It’s a struggle not to give in. Instead Kara makes her eyes open and meet Laurel’s taunting stare, ignores the cruel twist of a self-satisfied smirk. She sees the role Laurel is playing, knows it well from before - but it’s still just a role. “You think here you’re free and with us you’d just be a tightly controlled attack dog. And maybe that’s fair. But what do you think Roulette will say when you want to leave? If you’re still the queen of the ring? Her number one money maker, just walking away from it all?”

“I’d say she’s welcome to whenever she’s ready,” the sultry voice from the intercom system says, stepping into the room. Without the slight, almost robotic distortion of the speakers, the voice is even more hypnotic and alluring. A match to the beautiful, sharp features of the woman it belongs to. “But then I’m hardly surprised you aren’t giving me the benefit of the doubt. The DEO is hardly my biggest fan.”

Kara stiffens, hands balled into fists at her sides. She’s familiar with Roulette - also known as Veronica Sinclair, a mysterious, secretive, and _powerful_ Fae that has long held an empire in the paranormal underworld - but never had the pleasure of an official meeting. She had really been hoping to keep it that way.

The DEO’s files on Roulette so far are threadbare, just bits and pieces of data they’ve collected on her over the years. All Kara had known coming into Midway was that Roulette is dangerous, well-connected, and potentially a kind of trickster Fae. The worst kind to deal with.

“I have to say, when my star fighter was ten seconds late to check in before the next match, I did not expect to find you here, Agent Danvers.” Sinclair smiles. Her dark eyes pin Kara where she stands, as though she’s looking straight through Kara, right into her mind and past all the primal urges that are clamoring to come out. “I hope you aren’t here to steal Miss Lance away from us.”

“I don’t steal.” Kara feels her nails sharpening, pricking through the flesh of her palms.

The patronizing edge Sinclair’s smile takes on feels like a dagger at her throat. “Please. This is the backstage - there’s no need for that showbiz bullshit. We all know that the DEO is the strong arm of the government, and every government steals. It’s what they do. Not that I’m judging, of course.” She steps closer, eyes roaming over Kara in a way that feels invasive, as though she’s stripping away Kara’s layers - clothes, skin, flesh, revealing every inch of Kara so she can store it all away to use against her later. “I should have you thrown out. What do you think, Black Siren?” Her head angles towards Laurel, her smile almost sincere in its fondness.

Kara tries to catch Laurel’s gaze - but the metavampire doesn’t bend, only keeps her eyes on her boss and shrugs. “It’s your club. She was just leaving anyway.” The firm finality of that last part is heavy with either a threat - or a warning.

“Hhm. Yes. It is my club. And seeing as I want my club to be as successful as it can be - I feel it would be a waste to toss Agent Danvers out without taking advantage of her first.” Roulette’s eyes _shimmer_ unnatural colors until they are pitch black. She holds Kara’s gaze now - and it’s like looking into space, nothing but endless dark, specs of light suspended on nothing, some otherworldly plane existing in her eyes. She blinks and it's gone.

Maybe it was never there.

Kara feels dizzy and unsettled all the same.

Roulette is standing right in front of her - Kara never saw her move, but she can feel the tension coming off Laurel in waves as she watches. “How about a wager, Agent Danvers.”

“A wager?”

“Yes. How about you stay and fight. And if you win, you leave with what you came here for.”

Laurel takes a step towards them, protests already leaving her lips when Roulette raises a finger and presses it to Laurel’s mouth. 

Kara can only swallow. Her mouth and throat feel thick with unease. “And...if I lose?”

“Do you think you’ll lose? It’s a full moon. And though our Black Siren has won against many lycanthropes, none had the training you’ve had. Besides, you beat her once, didn’t you?” Roulette’s fingers are brushing Kara’s hair back. Her eyes are so black, empty - endless. “I promise, if you lose - no permanent damage. No one dies in my club - bad for business these days.”

Laurel is shifting from one foot to the other beside Kara - trying to get her attention? Angry at her boss but too afraid to say? Whatever the reason, it’s unclear, and it doesn’t drag Kara’s gaze from Roulette - safe to say that might be literally impossible, with whatever hold Sinclair has over her at the moment.

Kara wants to snap at the fingers lingering on her cheek and reach up and claw Roulette’s throat open. She knows something is _wrong_ but she feels heavy and unfocused. She blinks - lets the color fade out into black and white when she opens her eyes. It helps weaken the spell over her, and she takes a step back.

Roulette’s eyes are normal - just like a human’s eyes, nothing strange or sinister to them at all - but her smile is cruel.

Despite everything she knows and doesn’t know about Veronica Sinclair and her kind, despite that voice in the back of her head that sounds suspiciously like Alex telling her you cannot make a wager with Fae, Kara smiles back. “Okay. You’re on.”

“Excellent. Then follow me. Miss Lance needs to head to her private entrance.”

\--

_What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?_

It’s a fair question. Kara wishes it sounded more like she was asking herself that and not imagining Alex asking her that. But the answer is - she’s doing what she feels is right. What she has to do. 

Laurel deserves better than being used as entertainment for these people. Laurel deserves a life where she can see the good in herself, not just accept this kind of life because of her past. She deserves a second chance - a real second chance, not just being left alive and free and on her own yet again.

It was a mistake all those years ago to leave Laurel by herself. At the time it had felt like it was the only option Laurel would agree to, but Kara hadn’t even tried. So maybe this wasn’t the best way to win Laurel over, but then again, Kara has a sneaking suspicion she hadn’t really had the option to decline Roulette’s “offer.”

And maybe it would be a lie to say the part of her dying to come out wanted to prove Roulette wrong.

So when the security guard opens the door to the hallway leading to the ring, Kara doesn’t hesitate. She can hear the crowd murmuring restlessly, antsy from the longer wait. Halfway down the hall she hears that restlessness turn to cheering, and if she focuses her vision she can see Laurel entering the caged ring where they’ll fight.

A moment later and she’s standing in that cage, too.

Kara tilts her head to either side, rolls her shoulders to pop any kinks in her bones - all the while trying to ignore the way they ache to shift and grow and _strengthen_. That itch to change is maddening, instinct telling her to let go and let it out and end this quickly - but Kara doesn’t know if she trusts herself in this arena, surrounded by clamoring crowds and that sweet, intoxicating mix of adrenaline and liquor and drugs that give inhumans like her a buzz. So she takes a breath, pushes that urge back down, and steps towards the center of the ring where Laurel is already waiting.

The Black Siren stands before her, weight to one side, posture casual and relaxed. Her cool, blue eyes are studying Kara intensely though, belying the easy smirk of her lips. “I hope you know that my gratitude for your decision last time has any influence here in this ring.”

“Wouldn’t expect any less,” Kara says with a resigned shrug of her shoulders. “How many have you killed in this cage?”

Laurel’s eyes flicker with something Kara can’t quite read - shame, anger, hurt? “I’ve ended careers and dreams in this _cage_ ,” she spits out, as though calling it a cage - which it very much is, even if any of the fighters were to get overwhelmed they could easily break free - is a personal insult. “But never have I ended any lives in here. Roulette likes the possibility of a retribution angle for a good sell.”

“That’s comforting, I guess.” Kara shifts, facing Laurel at an angle, legs spread to better balance and knees slightly bent. She raises her arms, hands already balled up into fists. “But this time, I’m the one ending the career.” She says it with confidence only, nothing taunting about her tone. But she’s not surprised when she sees how it riles Laurel up, the relaxed pose switching instantaneously into one ready to attack.

More lithe and lean than Kara, Laurel is still a danger - even without her meta power taken into consideration. She’s all taut muscle and the grace of a predator. From what Kara glimpsed of Laurel’s previous fight and remembers from their original run-in, Laurel is more speed than muscle - a fast fighter who relies on strength plus precision. She has to be, considering the other monsters she must go up against. Even as a metavampire, power wise she’s still a lower class of inhuman.

Which, considering how long she’s been reigning supreme in Roulette’s little fight club, makes Kara a touch nervous that she’s bitten off more than she can chew.

“Ladies and gentlemen of all kinds,” Roulette’s voice purrs throughout the arena, echoing from the speakers. “We have a n unexpected and new main event for you tonight - something very special. A fight for our queen of the ring’s reign itself! And the opposition? None other than the Hunting Hound, Wolf of the DEO herself, Agent Kara Danvers!” There’s a perverse delight in Roulette’s voice that seems to just rile the already boisterous crowd up more.

_What the hell have I gotten myself into?_ She can’t help but question for the hundredth time since agreeing to this. That nagging unknown variable of what happens to her after the match if she loses lingers over her like a shadow threatening to swallow her up in the dark of all her worst nightmares. Again she wishes she could have brought Alex with her, could hear her sister reassure her or give her advice. Too late now, though.

Laurel smirks. It’s harsher this time than it’s been all night. There’s something bloodthirsty in her eyes, more than just a vampire’s hunger for blood. “Time to dance, Danvers.”

If Roulette says anything else before the bell rings, Kara is oblivious. All she hears is Alex and J’onn telling herself she’s taking too big of a risk, Laurel telling her she’d rather die than become someone’s pet, her own mind desperately howling to cut loose - and the deafening roar of the crowd foaming at the mouth for bloodshed and violence.

Laurel rushes her the moment the bell ring echoes in their ears. She’s snarling, aiming a strike to Kara’s throat - and anticipating Kara’s dodge to the side, her body twisting and leg kicking up at Kara’s ribs. 

The blow reverberates through Kara’s body, but tonight her bones are ready and eager for pain. Her body is primed for something violent and powers through - she unleashes two quick punches towards Laurel’s chest, though only one connects. Her fist smashes Laurel’s right breast inward, making the other woman hiss.

“Sorry. Too much? I forget my own strength sometimes,” Kara can’t help quipping. Maybe it’s a little taunting.

Laurel sneers. “Hardly, _Bitch_.” She headbutts Kara, forehead connecting with Kara’s nose. Her hands grip Kara’s shoulders to hold her in place as she raises her knee twice in rapid succession. The impact hits Kara’s stomach, almost making her retch. “Sorry,” Laurel whispers in a sickly sweet voice. “Too much?”

Kara _growls_ and grips Laurel’s throat on instinct, only vaguely aware that her claws are out, pricking into Laurel’s skin. Her free arm breaks Laurel’s grip off that shoulder so she can stand to her full height and toss Laurel away from her. Her claws tear at the skin as she lets go, leaving four thin cuts on one side of Laurel’s neck and one ragged line on the other. Her nostrils flare - she starts to lift her hand to her mouth, wants to taste the blood dripping down them, when she realizes her vision is going black and white.

It’s the perfect distraction for Laurel - who, Kara should have known if she wasn’t giving into her primal urges so easily, would of course become _incensed_ over a threat to her neck. She charges at Kara - so busy blinking back the wolf even if for only a second - and leaps over her, twisting to shove both of her feet into Kara’s back, heels digging in between her shoulder blades. Laurel lands in a roll that ends with her crouched, sneering. Her fangs are out and sharp, blue eyes now blood red.

The two-footed kick sends Kara stumbling forward. Her vision blinks back into black and white and settles there. Fine. She can let the wolf out a little.

“You know what your problem is, _Kara_?” Laurel hisses in that same saccharine voice. “You’re afraid of who you really are. You can’t beat me if you’re distracted fighting yourself,” she taunts. She stays there, crouched and waiting, the crimson of her eyes and the dripping vermilion on her throat the only color bleeding into the black and white world of the wolf’s eyes. “Not that you ever had any chance anyway.”

“You might have a point,” Kara says softly - but there’s something husky and guttural to her voice now. “Maybe I should take your advice.” She charges then, something between a kiai and a growl rumbling up from her core as she does. Her first strike - a right uppercut - gets blocked, but the second strike is time perfect for Laurel’s defensive maneuver, a left hook connecting with her jaw. She takes advantage of the way the force of it causes Laurel to twist to the side, wrapping her right arm around Laurel’s neck and pulling her in, right hand grabbing her left wrist to lock the chokehold in place. “Maybe I should stop being so afraid of myself.”

Laurel’s hands fly up instinctively to tug and pull and claw at the arm around her throat, but Kara holds firm. The reflexive and vain effort is brief though before Laurel pushes her lower body into the air, almost horizontal, and coming down uses the weight of her body to help her pull Kara right off her own feet. Laurel might not be as strong as Kara or had the same training, but she’s fast on her feet, calculating and more cunning of a fighter than even Kara is used to. She flips Kara over, breaking free from the hold.

It’s instinct that keeps Kara from landing hard on her back - lycanthrope reflexes helping her spin midair and land on her hands and feet. She moves to stand but Laurel is there, knee impacting against her temple in such speed that humans would only see a blur of movement. The _crack_ of knee bone against her skull seems to echo through Kara’s head, dizzying.

_Fuck it._

Kara lets out another kiai that’s more of a bellow than shout - feral and animalistic. Her hands are there before Laurel’s other knee connects with the other side of her head, wrapping around the leg - and Kara _swings_ as she stands, tossing Laurel to the other side of the cage. Black and white vision sharpens, so crisp and clear, every detail standing out, and Kara leans over to let out another bestial yell, letting the force of it vibrate through her, her whole body shuddering at the promise of shedding this weaker skin and becoming something _more_. 

The thundering roar of the crowd, rowdy and high on the violence, goes silent. Every stuttered breath, every soft, surprised gasp is white noise. They’re staring, waiting with bated breath now to see if their champion might get knocked down. Everything is suddenly so bright and sharp to Kara - their pounding hearts and racing pulses, the blood sweetened by frenetic energy and intoxicants, the smell of sweat and meat and human and inhuman vices, it’s all so clear now.

Kara wants _all of it_ . A hunger that she’s kept such a tight leash on is bursting at the seams. She doesn’t just want to beat Laurel to get Laurel out of there, away from Roulette - she _wants to beat Laurel_. She wants to win. Wants to give this crowd the shock of their lives and then tear through them, punish them for getting off and making money from the monsters coming through Roulette’s ring. She wants to sink her fangs into Roulette’s throat and watch the smug die out of the Fae’s eyes.

It’d be _so easy_.

Laurel is back on her feet, lips curled over her fangs, body tensing up. It’s a stance that Kara’s seen before - say it earlier that night - and knows it means she’s about to cut right to the chase.

Kara leaps across the distance between them, landing on the chain link inner layer of the cage. One hand grips through, keeping her upright, the soles of her boots flat against the fencing. Her other hand grips Laurel’s throat again, claws pressing back at the freshly healed cuts to cut them open anew.

There’s a flicker of fear in Laurel’s eyes.

The scent of her blood is strong in the air again, a sweet tang.

Every member of the audience is staring, silent save for the rapid _thu-thumps_ of their hearts.

Fear mingles with blood. Acidic, as enticing as it is unpleasant.

Laurel is afraid.

Kara blinks, frantically, until Laurel is in color again. Until the claws recede and she’s not on the verge of killing the woman she came here because she wanted to offer her a chance at something better. Her fingers are loose on Laurel’s throat now, something she only realizes a second before the familiar mask of Black Siren’s smirk forms to hide what’s left of her dwindling fear.

“Big mistake.” Laurel _screams._

Sound waves send Kara flying until she hits the opposite wall of the cage and ricochets off. Her body hits the ground hard, unable to find any equilibrium. The full moon’s edge boosts her advanced healing factor, which is the only reason she isn’t unconscious - yet. It’s nothing even close to being strong enough to counter her heightened hearing and for several seconds, she’s deaf. Practically blind the sound is so overpowering, a physical force pinning her to the ground and sending her sliding the few feet she bounced from the wall until she’s back against it on the floor.

She can’t hear, can barely see. Shifting, screaming - _thinking_ \- is impossible.

All that exists for several long, excruciating seconds, is the Siren’s Cry.

The terrifying realization that comes when it finally dies down is that Laurel had to have been holding back. The cry at full blast actually could render Kara unconscious. Possibly dead. Laurel’s hesitancy to use it all those years ago was something Kara had held onto, had used to justify her decision to give Laurel another chance and had stayed a nagging thought ever since. It was her justification for this trip into Midway, on a full moon, to Roulette’s turf, to try and convince a former hunt to try things on the other side.

And now she’s crumpled on the ground, her hearing muted and vision swimming. Panic is spreading cold throughout her body. She’s lost. She played right into Roulette’s hand, and despite the Fae’s promise that no one would be harmed or killed, there is so much room to bend the rules or find a loophole that Kara can’t find any comfort.

“Stay down like a good girl, Kara.” 

Kara is barely able to make out the words - Laurel’s voice sounds distant, warbled, like Kara is underwater. In her daze she can’t tell if it’s a taunt or a hope. Something in that distorted, echoing tone sounds like resignation. A fist connects with her temple - and everything goes black.

\--

“Our victorious queen still reigns supreme!” 

Even in her disoriented state, Kara can practically _feel_ the smugness in Roulette’s voice. She blinks a few times, and her vision swims - color fading in and out until finally she focuses in technicolor. There’s still a rattling in her skull, all her heightened senses trying to re-calibrate as she lays there in a defeated heap on the floor of the ring.

Black Siren stands there in the center, the hard and confident smile on her face sharper than a knife to Kara’s gut. Her eyes dart to Kara - is that concern or satisfaction? It’s brief before the pride in her expression goes blank like a mask fixed in arrogance.

Is she waiting with an empty pit for a stomach for Roulette to show her hand? Kara remembers Laurel’s tension in the locker room, remembers being uncertain if the vampire was just angry at others deciding her fate or if she knew Roulette had more up her sleeve. Does the uncertainty hanging over Kara’s head now have any effect on her, too?

Kara moves slow and careful as she pushes her torso up from the mat. Her head lifts to look up at the command center of the club, staring hard where she knows Roulette must be gloating, savoring her victory. Kara wants to be defiant and indifferent, unaffected, unphased - but behind her hard stare fear stirs. She remembers the darkness in Roulette’s eyes, those bewitching fingers on her skin, words coming off her lips before she could think anything through.

“A valiant effort, Agent Danvers. I commend you.” The condescension in Roulette’s voice makes Kara’s cheeks flush in a mix of humiliation and anger. “But I’m afraid it’s time to make good on your bargain.” This time Roulette’s voice doesn’t echo from the sound system - slightly distorted and robotic - but directly behind her. Smooth and hypnotic.

Kara turns her head and swallows when she sees Roulette _is_ there, hands folded together in front. The smile on her lips is not quite predatory - no, she isn’t a hunter looking at prey but the cat that already ate the canary.

“As promised, nothing permanent. No death. No torture. Nothing bloody or brutal.” Roulette saunters towards the center, looking to the eager crowd. “As they say - to the victor go the spoils! Black Siren,” she says, leveling her gaze at Laurel, “Here is your spoil.” Her arm gestures towards Kara in a grand, theatrical motion. She moves to circle Kara, eyes remaining fixed on Laurel. “To celebrate protecting your reign over the ring, Kara is yours. Claim her for your loyal audience.”

Shock blooms in Kara’s chest, rippling out in cold waves of dread as realization sinks in. Her wide eyes stare up at Laurel, desperate for some kind of reassurance - Roulette _can’t_ mean...Laurel _wouldn’t_ ... _what the fuck_ did she get herself into? She’d agreed to this. Kara had agreed. Whether it was her pride and own free will or something Sinclair had coaxed out of her, she’d agreed to give Roulette whatever she wanted if Laurel won.

Laurel won.

Kara feels sick.

The surprise and confusion on Laurel’s face, genuine emotion breaking through the veneer of smugness, gives Kara a little comfort. She takes a step back, something about the movement feeling automatic, instinctive. “What? No!”

Roulette doesn’t move from her spot next to Kara. “Yes. You will. Agent Danvers herself agreed to my wager. So take her.” She slowly strides towards Laurel. Every movement is full languid and confident. She brushes back some of Laurel’s hair, tucks it behind her ear. “This is my club. I decide what happens here. This is my turf, my rules. Some people need to remember that.”

Uneasiness becomes apparent in Laurel’s body language - tense, wary - and her darting gaze that can’t hold Sinclair’s. 

“She wanted to take you away from the life you’d made for yourself. She made a deal that took away your agency, confident she would win and decide what happened to you - tell me you don’t want to humiliate her more.” Roulette’s fingers trail down Laurel’s cheek, over her jaw and down her throat. She looks over at Kara, her teeth-baring grin like that of a shark that smells blood in the water. “Tell me aren’t the least bit tempted to make her beg you not to stop even while she burns in shame.”

Kara can’t look anymore - doesn’t want to see the spell Roulette’s voice is weaving take hold of Laurel. Or maybe she doesn’t want Laurel and Roulette to see that it’s working on her, too. That every word Roulette utters conjures up awful fantasies that makes arousal pool between Kara’s legs. She wants to blame Roulette - or even the moon - but it’d only be a half truth.

Laurel has haunted her for a lot of reasons.

“I - this isn’t what I do. I’m a fighter. Not a sex worker,” Laurel hisses - whether she’s afraid to disagree with Roulette or simply doesn’t want the crowd eagerly leering and waiting to hear her, Kara isn’t certain. 

“Oh, Siren, of course you aren’t. That’s not what this is about. This is about putting Agent Danvers here in her place. This is about making it clear who the champion of the ring is - and who owns this town,” Roulette adds in a low voice. There’s a sharp edge to it that makes Laurel pause, her throat slowly bobbing as she swallows.

“...All right. Fine.”

“Excellent.” Roulette snaps her fingers and two of her bouncers walk in with a large box, setting it down near where she and Laurel stand. “Take your pick. Have fun with this, my dear Siren. Have fun with her.” She fixes her endless gaze on Kara, that darkness in her eyes vast and ready to swallow Kara whole if she tries to back out of their agreement.

Kara says nothing. Can only stay there on the floor, the weight of her upper body heavy on her palms like she might throw up at any second. She can’t say no, can’t back out. She made the bet. Her eyes flicker to Laurel and then away - shame burns her cheeks pink while fear runs cold in her blood. She can smell her own arousal - and Laurel’s brought on by the thought of fucking Kara in front of these people or by Roulette’s touch and voice and whatever magic might have been emanating off of her.

The harsh _clicking_ of Sinclair’s heels fades out along with the heavier, duller _thumps_ of the bouncers’ boots.

It’s just her and Laurel now. And the box of...Kara assumes sex toys or BDSM equipment. Encircling them is an even rowdier crowd, catcalling and making wolf whistles and cheering for the pornographic finish to the night’s events. Inside the ring the air feels thick with energy -from their fight, from the full moon, from the crowd and all the vices flowing freely in the club, from whatever is going on inside and between Kara and Laurel.

“Laurel…”

“Don’t.” It’s hushed. Almost a whisper. Almost. “You got yourself into this mess.” She doesn’t look over at Kara though, just moves towards the box. As though she’s trying to convince herself of those words, try to sweep away any guilt that might be creeping in. “But - if it’s any consolation - I’ll make sure it’s good for you.”

Kara shudders with something that isn’t the repulsion she should be feeling. Curiosity wars with budding humiliation. The urge to run - to take off and tear out of her skin and stalk the neon painted streets until she’s free - is nearly overwhelming. And yet. She’s staring sideways as Laurel opens the box up.

“Come here.”

Kara blinks, turns her face to openly look at Laurel. “What?”

“Come. Here.” Laurel shifts halfway around to meet her eyes. “You get a say in what I use tonight. Only fair.” Her tone suggests she’s feeling anything but fair at the moment. There’s no cruel twist of amusement to her mouth, no wicked gleam in her eyes - but there’s a taunt to her tone, an unspoken ‘this is your mess you’ve made’ behind her words. 

“No.” Kara swallows, licks her lips. Her mouth runs dry, skin unbearably hot and it isn’t from the change lingering just underneath. She’s no wilting flower, hardly some naive virgin - but _helping_ Laurel pick out the tools of her public humiliation isn’t something she’s jumping at the bit to do.

The fact that while her sex life so far has been fairly vanilla - for a werewolf - her fantasies have certainly strayed into far wilder territory might make it all the more embarrassing. How enticing would this be if it was just the two of them? Something that happened naturally? Not something public and forced and all because she let her pride and stubbornness blind her? 

Maybe it was fair for Laurel to shift the blame onto her - maybe she had too quickly taken the opportunity to take away Laurel’s agency over her own life. 

Roulette had swayed Kara, she was sure of it. But she’d only swayed Kara into giving into an urge she was already tempted by.

Laurel sighs, looking over the contents of the box - and then _speeds_ to Kara, grabbing her arm and hauling her to her feet. She smooths Kara’s hair back with the free hand, fingers combing down halfway and then twisting around the strands. Her grip is tight, tugging Kara’s head back a little. That painted black mouth presses to Kara’s ear and whispers, “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. You think I like this? You think I want to play porn star to these parasites?”

Kara’s vision washes out into black and white and then _red_ \- she could tear Laurel’s throat out, shift her mouth and dig all those sharp teeth in and _rip_. But she agreed to this. So she squeezes her eyes closed and swallows. “Fine.”

“Good girl.” She leads Kara over by the grip on her hair - loosened up only enough that Kara can tilt her head forward. “Now. Pick.”

There’s a wide assortment in the box - it’s long and deep and there are a few items hanging on the lid as well. Handcuffs, whips, paddles, gags, strap-ons, clamps, rope - probably more, but Kara feels overwhelmed by everything. The arousal and disgust slithering and coiling in her belly don’t help things.

Cheering and catcalls and lewd comments fill her ears. Kara closes her eyes and takes a deep breath to try and shut it all out. Tries to focus on what she would want if it was just her and Laurel, holed up in a safe house, nothing but time on their hands cause they’ve got to lay low for a little while. Tries to remember all the wet dreams she’s had, all the wicked ways she’s wanted to fuck and be fucked by Laurel.

“A strap-on. Gag or blindfold. Vibrator. Anything else is up to you, I - I don’t know what else.” 

The grip on her hair loosens - her eyes remain closed though, afraid to watch Laurel pick those items from the little toy chest before them. Instead fingers gently cup Kara’s cheeks. Thumbs brush over the skin just under her eyes.

“I’ll make you feel good,” Laurel promises. This time it is a whisper. “I’ll make it good for both of us, Kara.” Her voice is so quiet and so _gentle_ , mouth close to Kara’s ear so the promise is tucked away where nobody - not the crowd, not Sinclair - can hear. “And then you’re going to run far away, and never look back for me again.”

_You’re wrong,_ she wants to say, but right now it’d be a waste. So she bites her tongue and just nods for Laurel.

“Good girl.” Laurel’s hands slide down till they’re on Kara’s hips. Her mouth drags down over Kara’s cheek and jaw to nip at her racing pulse with too-sharp fangs. “Speaking of…” She trails off and moves away. When her hands return they’re at Kara’s neck, wrapping something around - _click._

Kara’s eyes snap open then, a hand flying to her neck to feel - and there’s a leather collar wrapped tight around. She swallows, feels her cheeks burning again, aflush with a special kind of shame. The presence of the collar stings - that had been a part of many wet dreams involving Laurel, but she knows what so many think about werewolves. Wearing it here, in the ring in front of all these awful people cheering for her degradation - it _stings_ like betrayal. Like a slap to the face, a sudden yanking away of Laurel’s sweet, secret promise in her ear.

Laurel realizes that there’s something off, but she doesn’t make any attempt to remove it. Her voice is blank when she speaks again - not taunting or comforting. “Still have to put on a good show to make Roulette happy.”

Of course. 

Kara can only nod, hands balled up into fists that hang useless at her sides - willing away the urge to rip the collar off. She can clearly see where this is going now. Feels at war with herself. Everything is going to her head, already clouded by the tug of the full moon. She would submit to Laurel gladly if it was just them, if they were somewhere far from this cage and the hundreds of greedy eyes leering down. But it’s not just them, and there are so many faces watching them, and Roulette must feel so smug and victorious watching from high up.

Laurel pauses then, her gaze drifting down to look over Kara. Her hands slowly move up, hovering - as though what she’s about to do will be the point of no return. They’re there already though, and Kara doesn’t judge her when she reaches forward and starts stripping her. She tugs and pulls and tears a little - more for show than anything else. She never damages the clothes beyond repair.

Kara is grateful. She can’t stomach the thought of not being able to dress when this is over, depending on someone else for cover.

A few seconds is all it takes - and Kara is naked and bare for all to see. She could shift, finish the striptease by clawing away her own skin. She holds off. She isn’t sure if it’s fear of what Laurel or Roulette might do - or fear of herself.

“There we go,” Laurel practically purrs. That familiar smirk - her Black Siren mask - forms on her lips. “I must say, you are quite a sight, Kara.” She circles around her, fingers trailing over the skin of Kara’s back briefly before she rounds back to stand in front of her again. She steps in closer, invading Kara’s space, a hand reaching forward between her legs. One finger slides between Kara’s labia, sliding over her clit. Her grin widens when Kara bites her lip and shivers. “And already getting slick for me, too. What a good girl you are.”

Kara whines. A tiny, pitiful sound she fails to hold back. Her cunt aches.

Laurel’s eyes are registering surprise and confusion. She’s still smiling, still Black Siren for the crowd - but Laurel doesn’t seem to understand why Kara is reacting this way, why the further along they get her arousal doesn’t dry up and wither away. Maybe she thought she’d have to put more effort into making sure Kara enjoyed it.

Kara wants to confess that it will be _humiliatingly_ easy.

Laurel brushes her fingertip over Kara’s clit again, circles the pad around it, slides it lower and presses the digit in. Her jaw clenches, and she swallows. Her eyes are dilated now. “Won’t have to do much to get you ready for my toys, will I?”

“No,” Kara breathes.

“Good.” Laurel licks her lips, pulls her fingers back and lifts them to her mouth. Her blue eyes bleed into crimson as she licks her fingers clean of Kara’s slick. “Mm, maybe I will give you a treat - if you’re good. You’ll be good for me, won’t you?” She doesn’t wait for Kara to speak or nod, just reaches around and grips Kara by the hair again, yanking her head back. “Won’t you, Kara?”

_Go to hell_ , she almost says. _Fuck, yes, please_ , she almost says. “Y-yes,” is what she says.

“That’s what I thought.” She releases her grip on Kara’s hair, steps back from Kara’s space and sighs. The mask falters for a moment, gaze lifting up towards the command center. Then it’s back to business, Black Siren smirking smugly at Kara as she begins to strip down as well. It’s a little surprising - Laurel doesn’t necessarily have to undress for this show. Maybe it’s another way to give Kara something - anything - to help her through this.

_This mess I got myself into_ , she thinks. Her chest hurts like a bruise, all wounded ego. She wants to tell herself she doesn’t deserve this, that she didn’t do this to herself, but it would all ring so hollow - so she just watches as Laurel undresses. Kara almost whines at the sight.

It’s hard to ignore how the crowd is going wild, salivating over the two of them - but somehow, after Laurel finishes stripping, Kara finds it easier to shut them out. All the things distracting her senses suddenly fade into the background - nothing but white noise. Kara’s eyes take the sight in before she has the good sense to feel a little guilty over the fact that now Laurel’s nude in front of all these people because of Kara’s stupidity and Roulette’s maliciousness. Awe is replaced by awkwardness, and Kara crosses her arms, looking away, contrite and humble.

Laurel grips her chin, fingers _tight_ until Kara is looking at her. “Did I say you could look away, _Pet_? Did I say you could try to cover yourself?” 

Kara wants to say that wasn’t what she was trying to do necessarily, but her knees are weak after the word “pet.” Her arms fall back to her sides. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. Her head is all a mess - does she look, does she enjoy the sight of Laurel and how beautiful she is? The sweet and musky smell of her, all faded adrenaline and spiking arousal? Does she feel shame, guilt, does she beg, does she keep her mouth shut?

Does she tell Laurel she wants this and hates having it tainted and ruined and taken by Roulette?

“On your back. Let’s find out how sorry you really are,” Laurel hisses, tongue dragging over her lips. She shoves Kara away then, fingers releasing her chin. Stands there with a hungry look, waiting for obedience or defiance. 

Laying down feels more intimidating than it should. Laying down feels more vulnerable, more exposed. But Kara does it, lowering down to her knees and then laying back, swallowing, concentrating on her breathing and the wild, rabid beating of her heart. If she can just get that under control, just focus on that, maybe she’ll feel better. Less like a caged animal waiting on the slaughter. How can she be so helpless and trapped and still so eager? 

_What is wrong with me?_

“Good girl,” Laurel purrs.

Her panicking brain, so afraid of itself, latches onto the comfort of those two words. Maybe nothing is wrong with her. Maybe this is just...her. Just how she is, how she’s wired. A little unconventional, a little taboo, but is it a sin? Is it vile to take whatever good from her current predicament she can? Would it be better to simply suffer, feel nothing but pain?

Laurel stands over her, towering and fearsome and beautiful as the moon. That white-gold hair hangs down like a curtain - Kara wants her down there with her, wants Laurel kissing her so their faces are hidden by that curtain. “Time to beg for forgiveness.” She stands with her feet on either side of Kara’s head and lowers down.

Kara moans - and fuck, she’s eager to do just that. Heady instantly from the scent of Laurel’s sex and the taste of her slick, Kara licks. Drags her tongue from slit to clitorus, focuses her mouth there and _sucks_. A snarl rumbles from her chest to her mouth, licking again so she can nuzzle her face tight to Laurel’s cunt. She wants Laurel smeared over her, wants to never be able to fully wash that scent away. Wants to always catch a lingering hint of Laurel on her lips.

“Oh, _fuck_ , what a good girl you are,” Laurel says - there’s an edge of smugness that’s dampened by how breathy her voice comes out and the way her hips grind against Kara’s mouth. “That’s it...say you’re sorry.” Her head leans forward to meet Kara’s eyes - hers are red and glowing in the shade of her hair, staring down at Kara pinned by her lips and her cunt, fangs dragging over her bottom lip until it bleeds.

How sweet does her blood taste? It’s cold from undeath? Would it be warmer now, after the fighting, from the fucking? 

Kara strokes her tongue over Laurel’s clit rapidly - her hands move towards Laurel’s thighs, hovering over, waiting for permission to grip or the order not to touch.

“Go on,” Laurel moans. Her voice is softer, gentle and encouraging - something just between them and not for everyone watching.

Kara grips Laurel then, tips of her clawed nails scraping lightly at the skin without drawing blood. She sucks - firm - and keeps her eyes locked with Laurel’s. Colors fade out again, and she feels Laurel quiver when it’s the wolf’s eyes staring up at her. Fingers curl until her claws break Laurel’s skin, pinpricks of pain as she sucks.

It’s the final push Laurel needs. Her head tosses back and she screams - almost _screams_ , the fencing around the ring rattling as her orgasm shudders through her. One hand grips at the top of Kara’s head, tugging at the hair. Her hips twitch and press down until all Kara knows is Laurel - she can’t breathe, can barely see, but she licks away at the slick pooling freely from Laurel’s cunt. It’s slowly dripping down Kara’s chin, over her jaw and neck. 

Air hits her skin - cold and weightless - without warning. Kara blinks, and her eyes dart around as she gasps down oxygen. Even the lungfuls of air taste like Laurel.

The metavampire is standing already - legs wobbling, steps uncertain. She moves back to the box. Her breathing is slightly labored. Each breath a shaky pant that lets Kara know Laurel isn’t as unaffected as she wants the crowd to know.

Kara’s tongue slides out and around, getting up as much of Laurel’s sex that’s coating the bottom half of her face. It’s perverse and obscene - just laying on the ground in front of all these fucking people getting off on their humiliation, but Kara is drunk on the taste of Laurel. So what if these assholes are enjoying the show? She can have fun, too. Kara closes her eyes and savors the dampness on her mouth, her face, dribbling down her neck.

“You did such a good job,” Laurel says after several moments. Her voice is steady again. “So I’m going to give you a treat, just like I promised.” When she turns from the box, she’s holding one of the medium sized strap-ons in one hand, a small vibrator in the other. There’s something off in her eyes though - the smile is in place, the confidence in her body language, but her eyes are distant. Detached.

Shame rushes back like a heavy stone falling into the pool of her arousal, leaving her conflicted and unable to hold Laurel’s gaze.

Was it too much? Does she feel too exposed, too weak in front of the crowd? And why wouldn’t she? It was something beautiful, but personal - something to be given and enjoyed freely, not coerced out for others’ benefit and entertainment.

Laurel uses her foot to spread Kara’s legs - and humiliation slithers back to join with the shame, a snake writhing around that stone. “Originally I thought about returning that favor, but, no. I think my pet would rather get _fucked_ until she can’t stand it anymore. Don’t you, Pet? Isn’t that what you want?”

Kara closes her eyes again and just nods.

Fingers brush over one of her nipples and then grip and twist, sending a pinching pain shooting through Kara that she’s mortified to find still makes her cunt ache.

“I didn’t hear you,” Laurel hisses. Her voice is firm and cruel. 

“Yes,” Kara gasps out. Her claws at digging into the mat. “Yes, Mistress,” she adds quickly. She isn’t sure if Laurel is looking for the title, but as awful and degrading as it might be to go through this and enjoy it in front of all these people, the thought of them knowing she might like pain or certain kinds of it from certain people is even worse.

“That’s what I thought.” Laurel straightens to her full height and steps into the harness. Her pick is ink black, slightly curved - shaped and detailed like the real thing, though it’s hard to appreciate with the dark color. She kneels between Kara’s spread legs. Her palms press to Kara’s inner thighs, spreading her more. “Show me how much you want it, Pet.”

Every inch of Kara’s skin burns - the shift beckons, a sweet release, a power to end this powerlessness. She swallows it down and hooks her hands under her knees, holding her legs up and spread. The way her cunt aches and clenches at nothing, still wanting whatever Laurel will give her, makes her close her eyes again to try and shut _everything_ out. She can deal with any blame or resentment Laurel might be feeling if she can pretend they’re anywhere else, if she can avoid that detached look in her eyes.

“Good girl.” It’s crueler this time. The head of the strap-on presses at Kara’s slit, slides against it and up, teasing her clit. “You should see how wet you are. It’ll be slick enough in seconds,” Laurel taunts. Her voice is low - if anyone is bothering to pay attention they could hear what she’s saying, but she doesn’t broadcast it.

This is meant for Kara.

A soft buzzing cuts through the white noise of the crowd and her and Laurel’s heavy breathing. The coolness of the vibrator clashes with how it _hums_ against her nipple, Laurel circling it around where she’d pinched moments ago. It’s a pleasant sensation, chases away the echoes of pain that linger in Kara’s flesh. The sensation travels to the other breast, circles the other nipple until it’s stiff and tender too. It trails down, down, until it’s buzzing just above the damp patch of hair between Kara’s legs.

“Ready?”

It’s a whisper. A hint of concern. 

Kara opens her eyes to find Laurel leaning over, face hovering inches above hers. Their faces are curtained by Laurel’s hair. 

This is just between them.

The collar rubs against Kara’s throat. Chafing a little as Laurel’s slick dampens the leather and Kara’s skin.

A thousand thoughts race through Kara’s head - all the things she wants to say but can’t. That she’s sorry - for not doing more a few years back, for being cocky and selfish and letting Roulette blind her tonight, for getting them into this horror show. That she’s thought of Laurel over the years - of all the missed opportunities, of flickers of something inside her that she didn’t understand at the time. Of all the nights in bed, her hand down between her legs, licking her fingers clean and wishing it wasn’t her own slick she was tasting. That maybe this is something she wants - or wanted - this submission, this exchange of power and control.

“I’m ready,” is all she says.

Laurel nods. Presses her lips to Kara’s forehead. It’s so gentle, Kara thinks for a moment she might just burst into tears. Then she’s gone, the curtain pulled back as Laurel straightens her back and guides her hips forward. The tip of the strap-on presses to Kara’s slit and then pushes in. 

It’s been a while, and the familiar stretch of a cock inside her makes Kara moan. The weight of it inside her isn’t painful but there’s a pressure that is welcome and maddening. Her legs shake in her hands. Claws scraping at her own skin. 

Laurel goes slow. Lets Kara adjust to it inch by inch. It’s almost worse, dragging out the sensation of being filled, making her hips buck up to try and drag her in fully. A hand lightly smacks at the side of Kara’s ass. “Patience,” she teases. The hand holding the vibrator presses it tight to Kara’s clit when she speaks.

Kara comes.

She’d be mortified if she could think - instead all she can do is ride her orgasm out. Too wound up and desperate and overwhelmed from everything, she can’t help that Laurel sent her over the edge already. She’s twitching and jerking on the mat, whining as the delicious release washes over her, dragging her down under the surface where she can’t breathe, can’t see. Everything is white hot sensation. 

“Such an eager little pet,” Laurel’s voice breaks through the haze as the orgasm comes to a quivering end. “Knew this was what you wanted.” She thrusts her hips forward and oh - _fuck_ \- she sinks in fully then. “Don’t worry, we aren’t done yet.” Her hand smears some of her lingering slick that hasn’t dried sticky on Kara’s face yet. Her fingers move to Kara’s mouth, pushing in until Kara is sucking on them. “I’ll make sure my pet is good and used before I’m done.”

Kara can only moan around Laurel’s fingers, the sound garbled and muffled. Her hips are twitching, her claws have sunken deep into her flesh to keep their hold on her legs. Blood is trickling down to mix with her juices.

Laurel’s hips quickly find a rhythm. She pulls back until the head of her strap-on is all that’s left inside Kara and then drives forward, filling her up again, faster, no taunting left in the way she moves. Now she just _fucks_ Kara relentlessly, as aggressive now as she’d been during the fight. Her free hand roams all over Kara’s skin, the other keeps the vibrator right there at Kara’s clitoris.

Everything is so _much_ . Her cunt feels so tender, but the friction is so _good_ , she doesn’t want it to ever end. Kara is vaguely aware of the tickling sensation of more blood trailing down her thighs from her fingers, that her mouth is hanging open and slack-jawed and moans tumbling freely. Everything is instinct now, overcome from all the stimulation, the pressure of it just shy of pain, that by the time she realizes what’s happening she’s already halfway through the shift. Her claws tear through the skin behind her knees and let go, legs falling to the mat and shaking with the change and the promise of another orgasm growing stronger.

Kara is screaming - agony and bliss are the change. Her body is mostly human - but larger, broader. Her skin stretches till it splits, revealing the thick fur of her pelt. It covers her fully but only half as thick as a real wolf’s. It thins over her breasts and stomach, short and fine. She’s reborn anew, damp with sweat and blood, and that’s when the second climax hits. It’s a harsh hit of ecstasy after the familiar and comforting pain of the shift.

Laurel stops moving until it’s over - her hand keeps the vibrator to Kara’s clit, she’s buried fully inside her, but she keeps still throughout the transformation. 

For a moment - after Kara’s body struggles to re-calibrate from the overload of stimuli - fear swells up in her core. Did that disgust Laurel? Did she hurt her during the change? A thousand doubts and worries bubble up to the surface - until a hand smooths over the soft, fine fur of her breasts, down her stomach and over one of her sides. She looks up, and Laurel’s smile is softer, no sharp curves.

The fear settles back down, lets shame return as the unwelcome and unwanted emotion to struggle with while Laurel fucks her.

When Laurel moves again Kara almost yelps - the sudden return of friction sends a shock wave through her, and she realizes how sensitive her cunt is, the mix of Laurel’s thrusts with the _hum_ pressed to her clit almost too painful now. She wants to twist away, wants to shove, wants to beg for more, beg for Laurel to stop, beg for it to never end. All that comes out are long, low whines, words without form.

She comes again. She might come again and again, Kara isn’t sure. Everything becomes a blur of Laurel’s thrusts and taunts and the white noise of everything else and the _awful, wonderful_ stimulation between her legs that shoots sparks throughout her body. By the time Laurel’s hips slow to a stop, the vibrator gone from Kara’s clitoris, everything feels heavy and boneless. Movement is impossible, Kara can only lay there and pant while her body twitches spasmodically. 

Hands cup her face and hair curtains them again. “Good girl,” she whispers. It’s just for Kara. She kisses her - tender and feather-light - and gently brushes her fingers over where Kara’s fur blends into hair.

Kara swallows before she finally says one of the thousands of thoughts swirling through the chaotic mess her mind has been left in. 

“Your good girl.”

* * *

  
  



End file.
